


The Sensitivities of Espionage

by bonepages



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Building sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spy Percy, Undercover Work, character injury, chase sequence, hookup fic, info runner Oliver, second war-era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 22:16:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16795810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonepages/pseuds/bonepages
Summary: The face he remembered in his mind was much less scarred, a bit rounder with the remnants of youth. His nose much straighter than it was now, looking as if it had been broken and mishealed at one point or another. His hair was a bit shaggier now as well, the fringe getting into his eyes. When their gaze met he swept it back with his free hand, a crooked smile playing on his lips.Undoubtedly, through all the changes time brings, it was Oliver Wood.





	The Sensitivities of Espionage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theheadgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheadgirl/gifts).



> My gift to theheadgirl for the Pen15isMightierHolidayGiftExchange2018! I hope this floats your boat! This is the first full-length fic I've done in ages and it was so much fun.

The woods in Galloway were covered in a fog so thick Percy could barely see half a meter in front of himself. His fogging glasses and, now muddy, new oxfords were not helping. It was cold, the wind piercing through his warmest traveling cloak as if it were linen and not thick dark blue wool. All in all it was a miserable morning with the sun nowhere near ready to peek up over the horizon. Not for the first time Percy questioned why he had apperated out here on nothing but a two sentence owl and a whim.

The owl in question had been sent late last Tuesday night. He had been retiring to bed, body aching with the exhaustion that came with holding your tongue all day. The tawney thing didn’t stay long, dropping off a simple note written in a tidy, familiar scrawl:

_We need information,_

_Can you provide_?

Below was a spot and time to apparate that morning.

If there was anything Percy Weasley had in spades it was information. Sticking with the Ministry on at the brink of war had been a mistake, but even mistakes carry some hidden advantages. Coupled with a very public falling out with his family most people neglected to ask what side he was on. Which was good because the answer would not have made the current minister happy. The truth was that he was on the side of the very few. The side that snuck under the radar every day behind a desk and pretended they didn’t mind the chaos around them. The side that bid their time. The side that stayed.

He fiddled with a flat, smooth stone in his pocket as he worked his way across another stretch of field. The edge of the next grove of trees would be the meeting place. He couldn't see past the first row of them, the spaces between thick with branches and fog. His arms shook so hard he didn’t trust himself to perform a suitable warming charm. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, turned the stone in his palm again and waited.

Once the tides had turned within the Ministry he had been given new tasks. Most notably editing new decrees and researching reports of muggleborn witches and wizards. His desk was piled high with accusatory messages, littered with profanities and slurs. It took most of his energy not to be sick at his desk as he read through what seemed like an endless amount of paperwork.

He’d never missed his family so much as in those moments and he’d never felt as sorry. Guilt seeped into his very bones. How did he miss it? How could he have been so blind to _this_?

His associates said nothing to each other. If someone didn’t show up to work no one asked why, in some unspoken agreement, or perhaps they were afraid of the answer. He kept his head down, nose to the paper, and did what he did best. He planned.

_Finch-Fletchley? I never received that letter, sir._

_Perhaps send that file again, there are so many I’ve been handed lately._

_No. I haven’t heard from Lee Jordan. We weren’t close. That would have been my brothers and I haven't heard hide nor hair from them for years now._

That one had shaken him to the core.

Security had near tripled in the past few months. Owls were being tracked to and from work. Suitcases and satchels were subjected to intense examination every time someone entered and exited the building. Yet he was not one to be outdone by the procedures of his corrupted coworkers. Or Death Eaters. If there wasn’t a way for him to transfer documents without raising suspicion he’d create a system himself.

All papers that passed his desk went through what he called the ‘copy box’, a play on the muggle copy machine. When a paper went in a copy was made, appearing automatically in the 'sister box' hidden behind piles of old books and outdated cauldrons in his flat. When the paper came out the copy would remain. Every single paper, or note, or file. For months now.

So, yes. Percy was a wealth of information these days, flying under the radar until he found a moment to be useful. But none that he actually wanted to have. He had begged Aberforth for any news that he could spare almost every day. About his family, about his _sister._ Poor Ginny stuck behind the walls of Hogwarts that had never seemed so high or so intimidating as now. He got the same message back every time.

_“Place is walled up like a prison, don’t go stickin’ your nose between the bars without knowing what’s on the other side.”_

It was killing him, not knowing. He followed along to Potterwatch, of course, keeping a tally on the dead and the missing. Praying every time that he would hear from his brothers or his parents, to know they were alright. More often than not he would hear another familiar name added to the pile. Dean Thomas of Gryffindor. Tiffany Smythe, a Hufflepuff prefect he’d done rounds with. When two of his old roommates names came up he'd had to take a break for several days.

He had done this to himself, this self-imposed isolation. Now, in his desperation, he jumped onto the first opportunity he was presented with.

Maybe it was a trap. He fiddled with his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his long nose. Maybe he would die. His breath mingled with the fog as he exhaled shakily.

Yet he had to try.

The whip crack of apparition snapped him from his thoughts. His frozen fingers wound around his wand, already out of his pocket and at the ready. The sun was just barely starting over the horizon at the point, illuminating nothing and making the fog glow with reds and oranges. Leaves crunched under the approaching footfall. Past that all Percy could hear was the sound of his own heart beating in his ears and how heavy his breathing was.

He wondered how well a ' _protego'_ could work against the killing curse.

The steps stopped suddenly and through the fog Percy could make out a figure. A man, about half a head shorter than him, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. The man had his wand out too, both waiting for the fog to clear. When it did Percy heard himself take a sharp intake of breath.

The face he remembered in his mind was much less scarred, a bit rounder with the remnants of youth. His nose much straighter than it was now, looking as if it had been broken and mishealed at one point or another. His hair was a bit shaggier now as well, the fringe getting into his eyes. When their gaze met he swept it back with his free hand, a crooked smile playing on his lips.

Undoubtedly, through all the changes time brings, it was Oliver Wood.

“Percy.” He could see Oliver’s lips move over the letters of his name more than he could hear it. He lowered his wand and took a step towards him but Percy held his ground. His wand did not move as Oliver grew closer, his face painted with confusion. “Percy, what--”

“What did you get me for Christmas third year?” He asked, firm but not loud, not trusting himself to say anything past this question. Oliver rolled his eyes, as if this was some ridiculous formality and not life and death. The wand was brought back up and pointed directly at his chest.

“A bag of Bertie Botts, all ink flavored." He replied. "Why did I get you that present?”

“Because I wouldn’t write back over Holiday break and you were cross with me.” He lowered his wand, arm shaking. He knew it wasn’t only the cold anymore. “Merlin, Oliver.”

The man near tackled him into a hug. His bulky padded coat crushed into his own robes as he struggled to get his arms around him. To pull him as close as possible. He felt stunned for a moment before his knees went weak.

“I didn’t know if you were still…” Oliver started, but trailed off. Percy felt a hand in his hair, rough and calloused, raking through the unruliness of his early morning, untamed curls.

“I saw your name on a list of the wanted.” Percy mumbled into his neck. “I didn’t want to think about where you might be.”

“Safe.” He said, pulling back to he could press Percy’s forehead against his own. “I’m safe. I can’t say more than that--”

“I wouldn’t ask--”

“I came to pick up some information. I didn’t think…” He brought a hand up to run his thumb over Percy’s cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Percy.”

For the first time that morning he felt warm, his cheeks glowing bright pink from embarrassment rather than the cold.

“We’re all doing what we can.” He went quiet for a moment, before stepping out of the embrace. Not knowing what to do with his hands he smoothed down the front of his robes. “Is...Is Ron with you? Where you are? No one knows where he is and I…”

Oliver shook his head. “I can’t tell you, Percy. If I could I would.”

“Since I’m still a perceived threat until I’m not.” Oliver’s mouth went into a thin line but he didn’t try and rebuff. He reached into his pocket, digging out the rock. “It’s here.” Oliver looked at him as if he had grown two heads before taking it, warm from Percy’s hand. Their fingers brushed for a moment, a passing touch, before Oliver tucked it away in the lining of his jacket.

“I don’t know why I was expecting a massive file.”

“A box, actually.” He said, giving small smile. “Extending. You only need to use--”

Three faint pops drew them from their conversation. Before Percy could gather himself he was being pulled by his arm into the mess of trees. Oliver held his elbow as tight as a vice, dragging him through the knotted spattering of branches. More than once one hit his cheek, leaving a stinging mark behind. It took all his focus not to trip and keep up with a professional quidditch player in a full sprint. He was never the sporty type even at the peak of his physical performance. That had been way before a few years sitting behind a desk, eating takeout every day with the occasional smoke break snuck between. He debated on telling Oliver to slow down, to give him a moment to catch his breath.

Then he heard the yelling.

Oliver grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘ _shit shit fucking shit_ ’ and halted them at the top of a particularly steep hill. “Snatchers.” Percy gasped, trying to catch his breath and clutching at his side. “How did they know?”

“I’m not sure.” Oliver grabbed his shoulders, holding on so tight he could feel each individual fingertip though his cloak. He held his eye, ignoring the approaching footfall. “Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Percy, do you _trust_ me?”

A million thoughts went through his head at lightning speed. Late nights studying. Late night tea breaks. High-fiving in the hallways when they hadn’t seen each other in days due to conflicting schedules. Early mornings eating breakfast in the hall together. Kissing under the bleachers in fifth year. Hooking his thumbs through the loops of his jeans outside a muggle pub after graduation. Losing contact. Losing hope.

“Depends on what it is.”

“ _Please_ , Perce.”

It took a moment before Percy nodded, the desperation in his friend’s voice hard to ignore. It wasn’t as if he had any other choice unless he wanted to fight and blow his cover completely. Oliver gave a curt nod in return before he pushed him hard onto the ground and kicked him over the hill’s ledge.

Well. That wasn’t expected.

The wind whipped at his face and he definitely hit some kind of rock before his wits came back to him. He tucked himself into the smallest ball that he could manage, tumbling faster than he would have liked. An old log stopped his trajectory once, hitting him square in the hip and he somehow managed not to curse. Instead he put out a silent prayer to the universe or anyone who would listen that the end didn’t contain sharp rocks.

The bottom was covered in a thick layer of mud which he hit with a loud smack, knocking all the wind out of him. A rock indeed had found its way against his knee, but it was rather boulder shaped and less of the pointy-impaling type. He laid there on his side for a moment before trying to move, his limbs feeling almost foreign to his body and his ears ringing. An arm on his waist stopped him, pulling him close into the side of the hill. He had a scream on the tip of his tongue before another hand clamped hard over his mouth.

“Shhh sh sh, Percy stay quiet.” Oliver hissed in his ear. His head was spinning. How did he get there so fast? Why did he push him down a fucking bloody hillside? Against his better judgement and thirst for revenge he stopped fighting, sinking against Oliver’s chest as he, in turn, sank into the side of the mountain. Oliver whispered something under his breath as his wand danced in slow figure 8s near his hip. After a very stressful minute, standing as still as the moss covered rocks that stood near them, they also became part of the scenery. The moss and mud started to crawl in front of his vision, over his now destroyed shoes and cracked glasses. Every breath felt too loud as Oliver moved his hand to press against his stomach and hold him still.

He could feel the man’s fingers shaking through his cloak.

Time seemed to pass like the fog, floating absently over the hillside and between the two of them. There was shouting, the rustle of leaves and snapping of twigs from somewhere way above them. Still they did not move. Percy, his mind reeling, started listing off all he could remember about Gamp’s Laws of Elemental Transfiguration. By the time he was whispering the Exceptions to himself he could feel Oliver’s fingers clutch the front of his cloak. He stopped, waiting.

“Okay.” He heard from behind him. He could feel Oliver almost sag with relief against him, resting his forehead against his shoulder blade. “I think we’re alright. At least for now.”

“Where did you learn that?” He asked, wiggling his fingers and feeling the damp clumps of earth move between them, “I thought you were pants at Herbology.”

“But I’ve always been good at Charms.” He let out a soft huff of breath. Like that explained anything. He could feel the wand making a backwards figure 8 motion and the moss began to fade away back into the hillside from whence it came. Able to see again, he took a greedy gulp of air and tried to take stock of his body. Everything felt like it was screaming, but if they needed to move there was no time to waste. He pulled himself upright and took a step.

Oliver caught him before he hit the ground, hoisting him up with a shoulder under his arm and a “There we go. Alright to walk, Weasley?” He gave a stiff nod, and off they went, looking more like a failed three-legged race than a couple of secret agents. After a couple of minutes and several uncomfortable readjustments he shouldered Oliver away, who to his benefit didn’t try to fight him about it. Standing straight as he could he took in their surroundings. They were still in the woods, a much less dense grouping of trees but the woods nonetheless. The fog, if it was possible, had gotten thicker.

“The sun is up.” He said, quietly. “Shouldn’t it have…”

“Dementors.” Was all Oliver said, but it was enough to make Percy shiver all over. “They’re breeding them.”

He didn’t have to ask who he meant. He was working around them after all.

“Where are we headed?”

Oliver glanced over to him at the question, adjusting his jacket a bit tighter around his shoulders before stuffing his hands into his pockets. “A safer location. I scouted the area before I agreed to the meetup in case I needed a backup plan. Before I knew who you were.”

Percy snorted, “Of course you did.” This coaxed a crooked smile from Oliver’s lips. He bumped him with his shoulder and it felt achingly familiar. A small action they would perform ages ago. An affectionate gesture that could mean a wide range of things between ‘shut up’ and ‘you’re okay’. He suddenly felt old, older than he should.

“There’s a farmhouse about two clicks east. Think you can make it?” Percy hummed affirmatively and quirked a brow, encouraging Oliver to continue. “I don’t think anyone lives there. When I checked it out earlier it seemed pretty overrun with wildlife. Still, might find something useful. At least we can lay low until we know it’s safe enough to apparate.”

“Would that be so bad, right now?”

Oliver gave a sharp nod. “If they heard us and had any inkling about where we went this whole mission could blow. And if they knew about the meeting…”

Percy squared his shoulders, “There might be someone on the inside feeding them information.”

It was Oliver’s turn to let out a soft laugh. “You say that as if you’re not doing the same damn thing.”

They went quiet, walking the rest of the way in relative silence.

The woods opened up into a clearing and it was very much as Oliver had described. The remains of what surely used to be a charming, small farmhouse rested in the middle of a cozy clearing, though weather and plant life had started in on it. The roof was still intact, which was a good sign. Oliver was able to uproot a small tree that was growing through the kitchen door with a simple spell. He stepped over the threshold and Percy followed tentatively.

Inside the house was somehow colder than outside in the woods and he clutched his cloak closer. The kitchen they stepped into was wood, floors and all. Fading chicken print decorated the curtains, abandoned plates and bowls that were thrown about haphazardly.

Oliver held no resistance in making himself right at home, digging through the cabinets and pulling jars and cans onto the counter. Percy watched him for several minutes while shuffling his feet in the doorway. Abandoned buildings or no the thought of entering someone else’s space uninvited seemed unfathomably rude. He decided to put this on the list of things not to tell his Mother about once they spoke again. If given the opportunity. Eventually his friend turned back to him, gesturing with a can. “If you’re not going to sit at least put up some deflecting and shielding spells, would you?” Percy felt his face grow hot but turned to do as he was asked.

He wondered momentarily when Oliver had gotten so responsible off of a broom.

For not getting any sleep last night and how whirlwind his morning had become he felt surprisingly focused. His arms still shook a little from the adrenaline as he made his way around the farmhouse, whispering charms under his breath. He noted that it seemed like this was a muggle farm. There wasn’t one bit of magic that he could sense as he walked around to the back of the property. In most cases even an abandoned building would have some thread of something or another attached to it. With a precise flick and two waves of his wand he activated the guarding spells in full, watching the milky white of his magic as it shimmered into a transparent shield. He turned to the back door, ready to at least have a good sit and think about their next step, but stopped shy of the steps. Growing there was a bushel of goldenrod, a wild looking mane against the dark green of the outside panels. He plucked a fistful, shoving them into his pocket.

A small hallway lead him from the back door and past what appeared to be a rustic bedroom, once again decorated in fading chicken print and dusty blue gingham bedspreads. A quiet snapping noise distracted him from examining it further. He followed it, finding Oliver bent over a makeshift fire in the hearth, cooking what looked to be a tin of beans. “Alright?” He asked. Percy waved a hand, walking over to one of the faded brown armchairs and sinking down into its cushions. It smelled like mothballs and mold but his body, sagging the way that it did after being wound so tight, did not care.

There was silence again, filled only by the fire’s crackle, until Percy dared himself to speak.

“Should we be building a fire? If we’re being watched and all.”

“Are you saying we shouldn’t trust your defensive spells Mr. Twelve N.E.W.T.s?” The words and the jovial demeanor they were said with hit Percy sideways and he shrugged. If he was being honest with himself he didn’t actually know what to expect from these sorts of situations. Shouldn’t they be completely silent, huddled in a corner and barely breathing until they knew it was safe to move? Cooking beans and cracking jokes seemed strange in how normal it was.

“Is it always like this?” He asked, watching Oliver’s back as it stiffened.

“Yes and no.” He stuck the fire with a metal poker. “Sometimes it’s right boring. Sometimes...yeah. I’ve been chased a fair bit.” Percy felt a shiver go up his spine, something red hot and angry he did not want to acknowledge right now.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, but Oliver’s head turned so quickly it was as if he yelled it. “That I couldn’t help sooner. That I _didn’t_ help sooner.”

“No.” Oliver dropped the poker by the side of the fire’s glow, walking over to where he sat. He dropped down to one knee. “Hey, don’t apologize. Do you know how vital this information is? How much you’re helping? You’re saving lives right now.”

“How? It’s only files. Small bits of gossip. I’m stuck at a desk while you and...and George and Fred and Ron…” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, wanting to look at anything other than Oliver’s eager brown eyes, “You’re risking everything. Being cornered, being chased, putting your life on the line and I’m...”

“You’re doing the fucking same.” Oliver said firmly, placing a sturdy hand on his knee. “Do you know what they’ll do if they catch you?”

“That’s not anything compared to--”

“Bullshit!” He stood again, fists clenched against his sides. “It’s bullshit, Perce. What you’re doing is as vital as me running it. More so.” He turned to grab the can from the side of the fire, hissing as it burned his palm and dropped it to the ground. “Bloody _wonderful_.” He kicked it towards the hearth, the flames flickering a bit as he turned to stomp his way from the room.

“Wait, where are you going?” He sat up straight in the chair, ready to jump up and follow. For one terrifying moment Percy thought he was leaving. Abandoning him here in this farmhouse in the middle of who knows where to be at the mercy of a group of ruffians.

He stalled in the doorway, turning to look over his shoulder, shadows dancing on his face from the fire. He looked almost dangerous, ruffled around the edges in a way he had never seen him before. “I’m taking a nap. Been up too long.”

Either suitably convinced that he wasn’t going to be left alone or too tired to care if his friend was lying, he wasn’t sure. In the strained moment between them he found that he just wanted it to be over. He sank back into the chair, turning away to watch the fire. “I’ll take first watch.”

Oliver slept for a good two hours. In that time Percy tried his very best not to jump at every gust of wind that wracked through the rickety building. There was a big difference between being behind a desk making illegal copies of confidential files and actually being out in the open, having to fight snatchers face to face. Percy was an exceptional liar, he would admit it. He was ace at fibbing and white lies that put him into a better light. He knew how to talk to people and make them see his side of things. He was a true Bureaucrat who knew all the rules and how to bend them in his favor.

He was a decent duelist as well, but well out of practice since he had joined the ministry.

Mostly for distraction sake he took on the task of cleaning his muddied travel cloak, scrubbing it the best of his abilities before giving in and leaving it to dry next to the fire. His fingers hurt with cold and most of the mud had solidified or frozen to the fabric. He’d have to get it cleaned professionally. Cursing his luck he wondered to the kitchen, pulling the flowers from his pocket into a small bowl that he ' _scourgify'-ed_ . “Goldenrod.” He mumbled to himself as he worked. “ _Solidago virgaurea._ Work it into a paste for a quick remedy for minor cuts and bruises. Discovered by Alvin and Altruistic...” He crushed the flowers slowly with the thick end of his wand until they began to mush.

His whole body was practically throbbing, no doubt covered in bruises, but he only had time to think about the ones that could be easily seen. That was unless Oliver wanted to keep them for longer than just his power nap. He opted to add a few more petals, crushing with more force than he knew was necessary.

The mirror in the small hallway would have to do, he thought, as he took the bowl with him to go face his fate. The cut on his cheek has already crusted over with blood, which he tried to wipe away with the back of his palm the best he could. It wasn’t very deep, but if he was to make appearances at work anytime soon he’d have to take precaution. He dipped two of his fingers into the mixture and spread them over the raised abrasion. It burned a bit, which meant it was working. It may still leave a small scar but it wouldn’t get any worse.

He stopped in the doorway of the bedroom on his way back to the living room. Oliver was out like a light. His bulky jacket hung from the end of the metal bed frame, revealing the body underneath. Percy swallowed thickly. One of Oliver’s muscular arms sprawled over his face, blocking out what little light struggled to peek in through the windows. His shirt had ridden up a bit, exposing tan skin, a bit of his hip bone and just the smallest patch of dark hair that disappeared under his waistband. He knew a little further and he’d be able to see that trail of hair go all the way up to his navel, over well-defined abs.

His hand slipped and he fumbled the bowl, managing to save it from falling at the last second but not from it knocking loudly against the door frame. He turned back to Oliver, horrified, only to find him shuffling into a different position. His eyes wandered. The shirt had slipped down once again but so had his arm. The quidditch player always did have such impossibly long eyelashes.

He turned away before he could make a fool of himself again.

Around 8am, and halfway through remembering all major players of the Goblin Rebellion of 1612, he heard shuffling. Oliver peeked around the corner, blurry eyed with his brown hair poking up at awkward angles. He felt mildly exposed in only his simple thin cardigan, muggle t-shirt and corduroys. They both drew their wands up, pointing them at each other.

“What was my first broom?” Oliver asked, voice still thick with sleep.

“Cleansweep 6.” He answered easily. “What song did I charm to play on repeat as your alarm our fifth year?”

“Sky Joyride by The Weird Sisters.” They both lowered their wands at the same time, Oliver tucking it into his back pocket while Percy kept his at his side. “Anything happen while I was gone?”

“Nothing. Never been so relieved be this bored.” He watched as his friend made his way over to the fire and gave it a few firm pokes. “How did you sleep?”

“Awful.” The poker clattered as he dropped it in front of the newly-ignited flames. Percy was almost certain there had to be some magic involved with that. He leaned against the ledge of the fireplace before his hand reached out to Percy, turning his chin to the side. “That looks better.”

“Flowers growing near the back door.” He tried to ignore the heat in his cheeks under Oliver’s gaze. “I have some left over if you need it.”

“I’ll be fine.” Oliver turned his head back to face him and didn’t miss how those brown eyes flickered downwards to catch a glimpse of his mouth. Did he have a cut there as well that he missed? “...Percy I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

As he caught Oliver’s eyes he realized how close they had gotten. This was out of nowhere, he thought, and completely unfair. The words ran down Percy’s spine and he tried to suppress a shiver, and by the small smirk on Oliver’s face he didn’t miss it. This, at least, wasn’t surprising. Oliver may not have been as academically gifted in school but he was very perceptive.

“Why don’t you find out?” He mumbled, shifting so that he could place his hands on Oliver’s hips and curl his thumbs through his belt loops. Oliver grinned, and then did just that.

The kiss was familiar and he quickly fell into the languid back and forth which was snogging Oliver Wood. Unlike much else about him it was unhurried, and it always made Percy feel like he was being savored. Completely devoured by those full lips against his. They had done this many times. In the dorms and after practice, in the wee hours of the morning when both of them were so tired they couldn't keep their eyes open, behind the broom shed and between the heavy isles of the Restricted Section. Oliver’s lips were rougher than he remembered. It took Percy’s breath from his lungs as strongly as falling off the hill had. Oliver’s arm snaked around his waist, pulling him close until they were chest to chest. He groaned, which Oliver must have taken as a sign to sneak his tongue between his parted lips.

Percy tilted his head and decided to take advantage of those belt loops, pulling the other man over so that he was pinned between the cold wall and his warm chest. Oliver smiled against the kiss, sloppy and persistent and he huffed out a laugh.

“Something amusing?” He asked, almost a whisper. He could feel his cheeks and ears red hot with embarrassment and desire, torn between ripping Oliver’s clothes from his body or punching him.

“No,” Oliver replied, taking the opportunity to nip at his bottom lip. “A little relieved, is all.”

“Statistically I’ve said yes to your ideas 92% of the time.”

“That 8% chance is usually too big of a margin. Especially out here.”

“I thought you liked taking risks?” Oliver grinned, leaning in to lick a stripe up Percy’s neck. He shuttered, turning his head to expose it even more.

“Not with you.” He pushed Percy a little, who took the hint. He pulled at the waistband of Oliver’s trousers and guided him back until he felt the lumpy armchair behind his calves. Oliver wasted no time in pushing him down, straddling his legs on either side. It wasn’t hard to miss how good professional quidditch had been to his body. Percy moved his hands up his thighs, muscular and thick, and he could practically feel his own heart stop in its chest.

“ _Fuck-_ ” He managed to choke out before Oliver’s mouth was on his again. Rough and calloused hands jerked his shirt up from where it had been neatly tucked into his trousers. He huffed, pushing the other man away so he could pull at his cardigan, shuffling out and tossing it to the side.

Talking didn’t seem to be on the list of things Oliver had in mind right now. Instead he took the de-robing as initiative, running his hands under the hem of Percy’s shirt and up his lean frame. “Your hands are so fucking _cold_.” He gasped as Oliver laughed, leaning in to nip under Percy’s ear.

“Warm them up, then?” And Percy growled, tilting his head to force their lips together again.

It wasn’t as if Percy was a prude, he had been with other people before. In Hogwarts he’d had a girlfriend and outside of those hallowed halls and teenage kissing sessions he was a fairly eager adult. Usually these meetups consisted with dinner, or a drink, following some sort of dating decorum ending in an actual bed. Not hooking up with an old crush in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of Scotland, grinding up against his brilliant, beautiful, fit, clothed arse like a couple of teenagers.

Oliver always did seem to tempt him to break his own rules, again and again.

He seemed to be thinking the same thing, moving one chilly hand down until he touched the top of Percy’s belt. The buckle was inscribed with a ‘W’, and for some reason that made Oliver snicker. “Didn’t glamour yourself, didn’t try and hide your identity, it’s like you wanted to get caught.” He unbuckled the belt with ease, throwing it to the floor with a sharp clatter.

“I wasn’t thinking. I don’t know how these things work.” He lifted his hips and Oliver wiggled out of his lap, unzipping his corduroys and pulling them down roughly. “Do they- be careful I quite like those- usually end up like this?”

Oliver looked up to him, brown eyes blazing. He knew that look. It was a quidditch look. One that Oliver would get when he thought 'fuck the complexities and statistics, I’m doing the play anyway'.

“Is that what you think I do?” He said, pulling Percy’s pants down to his thighs and exposing his already half-hard dick as he dropped to his knees between him on the floor. “Pick up intel and then a quick shag?” He ran his hands slowly over his legs, fingers tracing patterns over the spattering of paler freckles that littered his inner thighs.

“I-I don’t know that’s why I’m asking.” He snipped back. He could feel the heat of Oliver’s warm breath as he leaned in, sucking a hot kiss into the sensitive skin near his balls. “Oh _fuck_.”

He felt Oliver’s shoulders shake through the haze of pleasure and was tempted to kick him away. The urge passed as those wet kisses started up his shaft. Full lips and smooth tongue gliding expertly to the tip of his head before sliding it between them.

“Please--” The warm, inviting heat of his mouth making him shift his hips upwards and prompting an indignant noise. He withdrew off Percy with a long lap of his tongue, placing his hands on his hips and pushing him back into the seat. “Stay still.” He mumbled, but Percy didn’t hear. As soon as those hands pushed down on him there was a loud ‘pop’ and a shooting pain down his leg. He turned to the side with a yelp, foot connecting with the other man's ribs.

The force sent Oliver sprawling across the wooden floor with an 'oof!'. He almost felt bad, if the pain wasn’t so distracting. He bunched his shirt up, exposing the injured hip in all its glory. Purples and blues were already blooming from under the skin. “What a cock-up.” He mumbled, ignoring Oliver as he dragged himself back up.

"Merlin's saggy tits." His friend hissed, looking up. “Has it been like this? Why didn’t you say anything.”

“Why did _you_ push me down a fucking hill?” He snapped back, groaning as Oliver reached forward to examine it. “Don’t touch it.”

“What happened to those flowers?” Oliver’s thumb ran over the large bump, and he shivered. Even with his dick to the breeze the ache in his hip had officially distracted him from how un-sexy the situation had become.

“Sink.” He managed, and Oliver nodded, standing and disappearing into the deteriorating kitchen. He took one breath, then another, before trying to at least pull his pants back up. He was much more eager to be clothed now that Oliver’s warmth wasn’t there to protect him to the chill of the room. He closed his eyes, listening to the occasional clinks and clatters until his friend returned, paste in a bowl. It looked a bit more viscous than what he had made earlier but resisted the urge to lecture. Oliver’s expression looked a bit pinched as bent back over.

He pushed his shirt up and Percy bit his lip as the cool muck smoothed over his skin. It tingled, not its telltale burn or sting, but before he could ask Oliver was talking.

“Found some dried mint in the cabinet, it might feel a little cooler.” It was a remarkably insightful addition for someone who didn't take Advanced Potions. Though he was careful not to say so as Oliver's fingers rubbed light circles over his bruises. He let out a small hiss and squeezed his eyes shut as they reached the worst of it. A blotch of sickly dark purple that stood out like a wine stain against his skin. He felt Oliver move and the feeling of something small and blunt against his skin. Then Oliver’s voice whispering a quick _‘epiksy’_.

The familiar rush of hot-cold almost made him jump, as well as a hard popping noise that followed. He gasped, thankful he was sitting because there was no way he wouldn’t have fell to the floor out of pain. “Hey it’s alright, you’re alright.” Oliver reassured him, climbing up further and touching the side of his face. “Hey, look at me.” He did, Oliver slipping the glasses off of his face. The world became much more off-kilter and blurry as the other man leaned in close.

“Doesn’t look like a concussion.” He sighed, scratching the back of his head. “I’m sorry Percy I should have thought, I didn’t think--”

“That I may have hurt myself when you pushed me down a bloody mountain?” Oliver snorted and he found himself smiling a little, even though he knew he should be furious. Was furious. “What possessed you into thinking that was a bright idea?”

“Well, it sort of was, wasn't it?” Blurry-Oliver moved, sitting on the arm of the chair. He still had his glasses, fiddling with the loose rim. “Can’t follow footprints as easy, get to the bottom quicker. I meant to apparate and catch you but, well, didn’t work out quite as well in practice over theory.”

There was quiet for a moment, only the dull crackle of the fire between them.

“I think...that’s a common problem, there. That I have.”

“Acting before thinking?”

Oliver shook his head. “No, well yes, but more like...shite.” He pushed his hair back. “I see the risks and I say, you know, forget it. It could work out.” He looked down at Percy, and even though he couldn’t see for shit he could tell that he was nervous. His shoulders hunched over and his eyes were wide. “I don’t think about what will happen if it doesn’t.”

In that moment he felt as if they might not be talking about the hill anymore.

As Oliver looked at him Percy realized he had been presented with several options. He could play false ignorance to what Oliver was trying to say and continue as they had been. Never mention this again. He could shut down whatever blossoming idea Oliver had about the two of them outright. They were in the middle of a war. They were both gunning for work in the spotlight on the other side of things. They were polar opposites. This couldn’t work. It never had been able to work before.

Instead he leaned in, pressing his lips against Oliver’s at an odd angle. The other man’s breath hitched the tiniest amount, and he pulled away before he could kiss back. The honest thing, he thought, might not be the nicest or the easiest. It may not even be the right thing to do. But as good as Percy was at lying sometimes he didn’t want to.

“When have Gryffindors ever thought things through that much?” He whispered, and Oliver smiled, crooked and perfect, before leaning in and kissing him again.

They slipped back into a rhythm so quickly it was like they had never truly stopped. He wrapped his arms around Oliver’s strong and steady shoulders and in return he was pulled up. His turn to straddle those muscular legs and feel the weight of those arms around his waist.

Oliver was not teasing this time, clutching at the back of his shirt like it was the only thing holding him steady. Maybe it was, maybe it was keeping them both grounded.

They could have died.

They could have died and never done this.

He spoke against Oliver’s lips, a mix of his name and ‘yes’ and 'want you’, not caring how needy he sounded or how embarrassing he was. The shorter man took the hint, standing and pulling Percy with him. He grunted as his hip was jolted, still a bit sore though much better than it had been, and he did his best to wrap his arms and legs around him.

“Watch it!” He chided and Oliver was snickering, already heading further into the house. “Put me down you absolute _brute_.” He felt a firm slap to his ass and he yelped.

“Oh I’ll put you down.” The increasingly infuriating man replied, navigating them both through the doorway into the bedroom. The sheets were still ruffled from Oliver’s impromptu nap, but didn’t seem to be dusty anymore, a fact that he was thankful for as Oliver laid him out gently as he could on top of the bedspread. He crawled up his body, one arm on either side of his head like he was about to start doing push-ups. Really, he wouldn’t put it past him.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” He replied, breath shaky, reaching up to grab at Oliver’s collar.

“I’m not sure what your plans are.” His partner continued instead of kissing him, like an absolute idiot. “But…”

“If you’re going to make a joke about riding your broom--”

Oliver laughed, finally kissing him, shaking his head.

“Much better at riding them, myself. Could say I’m a bit of an expert.” Percy felt his face heat up as Oliver laughed again. “Might do it for a living.”

“You’re awful, terrible.” He chided, kissing him between every word for emphasis.

“And you’re going to shag me now?”

“Oh, well yes.”

“Brilliant.” He smiled, sliding his hand under Percy’s shirt again. For how un-sexy their last session had ended Percy had no problem in finding himself, once again, lost in the moment and complete puddy in Oliver’s hands.

He lost his shirt first, Oliver rumpling it up and tossing it up over his head in a few jerky motions. He was glad his glasses were already god knows where, the less complicated getting naked was the better. Oliver dipped his head down, kissing down his neck to his chest, biting over collarbone as he got there.

“Fuck.” He head Oliver mumble. “You’re so hot.”

Percy scoffed and Oliver looked up. “Really. You don’t know what you do to me. What it was like living right next to you when you have...have…” He pulled one of Percy’s hands towards him, linking their fingers together. “These damn _hands_.”

“How about showing me?” he offered. Oliver growled as he brought his free hand up to his lips, determination on his face as he kissed the tips of them. He took his time, lips lingering over his knuckles and palm, before wrapping his lips around his pointer and middle finger. Percy gasped, slipping those digits in between his friends lips. He pushed them further in, desire settling hot into the pit of his stomach as the coaxed a sigh from those lips. He moved them, back and forth in a slow rhythm, Oliver dragging his tongue between his long, slender fingers and sucking them further into his mouth.

Percy felt like he was dying a little bit.

He withdrew his fingers with a small, wet pop, tips grazing over the bottom of Oliver’s lip. He looked at him, eyes dark with desire, and kissed him. Slowly this time, savoring the velvety feel of his tongue as he drew it into his mouth. He wanted him. More than anyone. More than he ever had before. Though they had fooled around in school, finding dark corners to meet in, it was never like this. They had never gone much further than this. “Do you have...uh, condoms?” He managed out as Oliver broke away from his lips to suck hard on the side of Percy’s neck in a way that promised a bruise. Properly necking like a couple of teenagers. Maybe some things never change.

He felt his nose nuzzle the side of his neck, “We’re wizards.” He emphasized, laughing. “Do you really not know there are spells for all that?”

“The more you tease me, the less I want to fuck you.” He absolutely lied and Oliver could tell, leaning in to nip at Percy’s bottom lip.

“I think you like the teasing, Percy.” He rocked against his very obviously tenting y-fronts for emphasis. He groaned, throwing his head back against the mattress and tipped his hips up to meet him.

He dipped his hand under the hem of Oliver’s shirt, raking his nails along the front of his beautiful body. The Greeks would worship this body, he thought to himself. Make statues of it. Lay helpless at his feet. And here he was, able to surrender to flesh and bone. He leaned upwards, rocking his hips again as he latched in to the side of Oliver’s neck with tongue and teeth. “Yes, yes.” He moaned, Percy’s hand moving over that perfectly sculpted and tan chest and abs to the button of his trousers. “Fuck, yes.”

Sometimes taking an initiative was the only way to get stuff done.

Oliver’s cock was better than he’d imagined, even if he’d ground against it a few times fully clothed behind the broom shed in seventh year. It wasn’t clothed now, having struggled with both their pants enough to throw them across the room. It was girthy and a decent length, and above all it was Oliver’s. Using firm, slow strokes he felt it in his hand, feeling slightly giddy as the other man arched into his touch. Writhing with every stroke.

He was vaguely aware of Oliver reaching for his wand at the side of the bed, breaking the kiss to whisper an incantation against his lips. “We should be alright.” He smiled, leaning in to kiss Percy and wiggling his hips, eyes glinting deviously. “Come on now.”

As if he needed any more convincing than that.

He pulled Oliver’s shirt up over his head, throwing it over the side of the bed with the rest of their clothes before guiding him to lay on his back. His hand snuck between his partner, pressing between cheeks so he could slide one finger in with ease. Whatever spell work he’d done had seemed to do the trick, and he reminded himself to ask about that later.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Oliver said, grinding back against his finger in a tentative gesture. “But the charm should have taken care of all that.”

“I figured as much,” Percy leaned down so he could kiss right under Oliver’s ear. “I just want to.” He slid his finger out so he could add another, slowly pumping them until he found what he was looking for, cocking his knuckles a bit and thrusting.

The reaction was brilliant. Oliver moaned, loud and lewd, his fingers digging into the sheets so hard his knuckles started to turn white. He pressed again, at the same angle, causing his partner to writhe.

“Stop, _shit_ , teasing me.”

“I think you like the teasing.” He replied, catching Oliver’s eye as he stared daggers up at him, kiss-bruised mouth parted just slightly. He leaned down, taking those lips again as he withdrew his fingers. He pulled back as he did, raking his teeth over his pulse point. He could feel how fast his heart was beating, which calmed him but a bit. He didn’t want to be the only one with a heart hammering out of his chest.

He lined himself up, taking care and a deep breath as he slowly entered the man beneath him. Oliver grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him close as to wrap his legs around the small of his back. He was breathing so hard that when Percy was fully in, he stopped, leaning over to kiss his pecs, nuzzling the patch of hair between them.

“Okay?” He asked, and Oliver nodded, eyes glazed and mouth hanging open. He licked over his bottom lip and started to move, hips rotating in a steady rhythm. He could feel Oliver’s nails digging into his shoulders, and knew they would leave small, crescent moon shaped indents for hours after this encounter. His eyes were closed, but looked every bit as focused as he did on the pitch, matching Percy with every thrust. Slow. Deliberate. Until Percy tilted his hips back just so and hit that spot that made Oliver cry out in surprise and pleasure.

“Yes! There, _yes_.” His partner dissolved into a mess of affirmative, the air of the room penetrated with swears and declarations to higher deities and who was Percy to deny him? He quickened his pace, holding so hard to Oliver’s hips that he was sure they would bruise as well. His own burned but he ignored it, losing himself in the way Oliver felt around him.

“Beautiful.” He mumbled, pushing Oliver’s hair out of his face and he bit his lip, “Gorgeous.” He moved a hand between them, starting to stoke him in a similar rhythm to his thrusts. His cries of ‘deeper’ and ‘please’ urging him on.

There is magic in all places. In forests and the fog, between fingers, in fire and plants and the breaths between them. In this bed there was magic. In the moans of Oliver and the whispers Percy spoke that were known only by lovers. His skin felt electric, fire warm and laugh warm and Oliver warm. His own mind was gloriously blank, no longer filled with the anxieties of his current life, with useless bits of paper and knowledge stolen from texts. With fear of the unknown and fear of the facts. Just a name repeating over and over, bringing him closer to the edge with every thrust of his hips and smack of skin on skin. Oliver, Oliver, Oliver.

Percy fell back against the bedspread, chest heaving and face flushed. The room was tilting to the side and he blinked a few times, trying to regain some focus. There were cool hands on the side of his face and Oliver kissed him, soundly, before moving somewhere off to his left. There was the muttering of a quick spell before he felt his glasses slip smoothly back onto his face, freshly devoid of all cracks.

“Thank you.” He breathed, turning on his side before wincing and deciding that maybe his back was best for now “Fuck.”

“Yea.” Oliver chuckled from his side, curling into it and running a hand over his stomach. “Pretty much sums it up.”

Their breathing began to even, sweat cooling on his skin as he stared at the dusty white ceiling. Mind starting to reel he ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than the sex had. Wild, untamed curls of bright red sifting through his fingers as they snagged.

“What’s wrong?” He jumped, having not noticed how Oliver’s eyes were practically drilling a hole into him. “You only pull your hair when there’s something up.”

“Do not.” He huffed, moving his hand back down to the bed with a hard shove.

“O.W.L.s, N.E.W.T.s, breaking up with Penny, “ He listed and Percy hit him in the arm.

“I was just--” He began, but sighed, looking over at his partner as he made himself comfortable leaning onto his chest. He looked good like this, naked except for a bed sheet, red marks on the side of his neck from where he has sucked them in earlier, lips swollen. Completely debauched except from the look of concern that shouldn’t be there. “Thinking.”

“Obvious.” He prompted, not moving from where he stared. After long a minute of silence he sighed. “You said it was alright.”

“It is.” He added quickly, moving slowly to sit up, Oliver moving with him and letting himself fall onto his back. “For now. But what about after the war. What about your family? Merlin, _my_ family. What do you…” He gulped. “What do you even want?”

Oliver looked at him and he suddenly felt naked for the first time in spite of all his clothes being thrown to god knows where, completely exposed under those chestnut eyes. Oliver leaned forward, kissing his forehead before pressing them together. It reminded him of earlier, in the woods, how Oliver’s eyes had lit up at seeing him. How he’d greeted him so warmly. No hesitation in any of his movements. He hadn’t hesitated about anything.

Oliver Wood always seemed to know exactly what he wanted.

He gasped a small _‘oh’_ and Oliver nodded, gathering that he’d caught on at last.

“Whatever you want to give, Percy.” He said, running a thumb over his cheekbone. “I’ll take. Happily.”

Percy nodded back, moving to capture him in a kiss again. “We have work to do.” Oliver hesitated, and Percy tried not to notice how his face fell just a little. “On the other side of it...when it happens. Maybe a proper date?"

Oliver smiled and Percy felt it in his stomach.

They dressed relatively quickly, collecting their clothes from different ends of the room and, in the unfortunate case of Oliver’s underwear, under the bed. As he threw his cloak over his shoulder he looked over to the fireplace where Oliver was putting the coals out with a quick ‘ _aguamenti’_. He watched him, his arms flexing subtly, before clearing his throat. Oliver’s head snapped to attention, looking to him from the hearth.

“I’m off.” He said. “You have the, uh, the information. Did you remember how to--”

“Yeah. Took notes, didn’t I?” He stayed where he was, and it was like all the air was sucked out of the room. “Take care, won’t you?”

“I’ll try my very best.”

“All we can do.”

They stood, staring at each other from across a room that felt like years, before they took steps towards each other. There was no passionate embrace, no deep kisses. The time for that had ended.

Oliver clapped his shoulder and it took all his strength not to grasp it.

Instead he gave a small smile, thinking ‘ _this is important_ ’, and stepped out through the back door.

It was a little brighter in the late morning, fog looking more like smoke than it had earlier in the day. The goldenrod stood as a stark contrast to the gloom, trumpeting beautifully. He reached out and plucked one more flower, placing it into his pocket and worrying the stem. He could hear Oliver putting the dishes in the kitchen back where they went. Back to cabinets, back to being tucked safely away with no one to care for them.

He hugged his cloak tighter, thought of a warm flat, and spun on his heel.

He wouldn’t see Oliver again for six months. He’d catch his eye between billows of smoke and small fires burning. Fueled with grief and covered in blood that wasn’t his own. His eyes would gleam wildly, his smile manic and crooked and perfect. He’d see himself reflected in his face.

They’d fight and they’d win.

He’d find his way through the early morning fog of a new world to him again.


End file.
